


des pas sur la neige

by CoraClavia



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Love and Loss, pretty much just something to assuage my poor feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraClavia/pseuds/CoraClavia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-"Valediction." Steve Rogers apparently isn't someone who can be gotten over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eye of heaven, pray gently smile,  
And though the cold wind blow,  
Soft, may you warm and mind my love  
That I do love her so.  


_Westron Wynde_

* * *

 Peggy’s not usually clumsy.

She doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until she tries to open the vial. It cracks and she gasps, her hands stinging, brilliant scarlet coating her skin.

 _Steve_.

Blood coats her fingers and she stares through blurry eyes, watching the last traces of Steve Rogers spill into the river, with part of her joining him.

“Goodbye, my darling.”

* * *

The cuts on her hand are deeper than she realized; by the time she gets back to the house, they’ve stopped bleeding but she can see the lacerations are fairly deep.

Angie obligingly plucks out the bits of glass with tweezers and wraps it up for her. “What’d you do, slap a window?”

Peggy smiles faintly. “Just an accident.”

* * *

She has trouble sleeping. When she does sleep, it’s fitful, restless. It’s May but she keeps waking up cold in the night, digging through her closet for her warm robe, then rooting through her dresser for a pair of socks, and finally going to the linen closet for an extra blanket.

She wakes up sweating under her covers. She’s unsettled. But she can’t quite place it.

* * *

Peggy assumes she’s just going through a troubled spell. Stress is finally taking a toll on her sleep. It’s probably nothing.

Except it doesn’t stop. She spends a month exhausted, her body aching with fatigue, collapsing into her bed only to wake gasping, her heart racing. One night she wakes up shaking so hard she’s thrown off her covers. Another night, she’s suffocating, clawing at her pillow, every muscle tense in a futile attempt to take a breath.

There’s one night, though, that she’s already chilly when she goes to bed, and she wakes up at three, crying so hard she feels nauseated.

At work, no one says anything, though she catches Sousa trying to sneak glances when he thinks she’s not looking. She knows she looks tired.

Angie, of course, has no problem offering her opinion. “Jeez, Peg. Something wrong? You look like a ragdoll.”

“Just tired.”

“You’ve been ‘just tired’ for weeks. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Peggy shakes her head. “Maybe I need a break.”

“You work every day. It couldn’t hurt.” Angie grins. “But, you know, if you don’t want to run off to Paris just yet, I _did_ find some really good wine in the kitchen. Call it a tiny Italian getaway.”

* * *

A few hours later, Angie’s three sheets to the wind, but Peggy feels clear-headed. She laughs as Angie staggers off to her own room, slurring out _G’night, Pegsss_ , and stands at the sink, rinsing out an empty bottle.

She doesn’t think too much of it - Peggy has always held her liquor better than most women her size, and Angie’s had a lot more to drink than she has - until something strikes her.

She freezes. The bottle clatters in the sink.

She remembers a cold, rainy day. The ruins of a bar. Steve, sitting at a table, crying quietly over his best friend.

 _I can’t get drunk_.

Peggy wipes her hands with a towel, turning them over slowly. The cuts have long since faded, leaving her skin smooth. She hadn’t expected scarring, but now, looking at the unmarked skin, she feels a shiver run through her.

She has Steve Rogers in her veins.

She almost picks up the phone to call Howard, but freezes. Jarvis. Howard doesn’t know she had the vial. She can’t betray her most faithful ally. Especially not for an unsupported whim, a fleeting, shapeless worry born from a month of stress and lack of sleep.

It’s probably nothing.

* * *

Peggy’s nothing if not a thorough investigator.

A few days later, she tries purposely getting drunk again, drinking enough to make herself sick, quickly and on an empty stomach.

When she gets nothing but a mild spell of dizziness, and wakes up with only the faintest trace of a hangover, she finally realizes she has to do something.

* * *

Rather than going straight to Howard, she calls Jarvis first.

When she tells him exactly what’s happened, he lets out a breath. “Agent Carter. You need to call Mr. Stark at once. This could be serious.”

“But - the vial. He doesn’t know -”

“Miss Carter.” His voice is very gentle. “I’ll not sacrifice your safety for my own convenience. Tell him the truth.”

* * *

After Angie leaves for her evening shift, Peggy calls Howard. He hurries into the apartment an hour later, slamming the door shut behind him. “What is it?”

“I think - something happened.”

She repeats her story for him, wincing internally as she tells him about the vial Jarvis gave her. To his credit, though, he says nothing, just lets her continue.

“It cut my hand.” Her throat gets tight as she remembers it, but she keeps going. “It bled quite a bit.”

“And - what’s the problem?”

“I can’t sleep.” She knots her hands. “When I do, I keep waking up, panicked. Or freezing. Or suffocating. And I don’t seem to - to be able to get drunk.”

“Can’t get drunk?”

“No.” Peggy took a breath. “Neither could Steve.”

Howard’s face falls, his eyes going wide. Peggy feels her stomach drop. For the first time it feels real; till now, it was just a worry in the back of her mind. But Howard Stark is a scientist, and from the look on his face, there’s reason to be worried.

“Have you noticed any other physical changes?”

“No.” She looks at her hands. “I guess - there were no scars, but I’m not sure I would have expected them.”

Howard nods. “I’d like to do some tests on you, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Peggy relaxes a fraction of a percent. It’s still a mystery, but if it’s just dreams and sobriety, maybe it’s not as terrifying as she’s been imagining. She doesn’t seem to be developing a red skull or excessive muscle mass, at least. “Do you have any theories?”

Howard sits back, his brow furrowed. “You know as well as anyone, Peg, there’s a hell of a lot we still don’t know about that serum and its effects.” He shakes his head. “We know literally nothing about its effects on multiple people. All we really know is what the full dose did to Steve. So I can only speculate.”

“That’s it, then? So now what?”

He gives her a half-smile.

“We need to figure out what it’s done to you.”

* * *

He swabs her cheek and draws a not-insignificant amount of blood from her arm and asks a thousand questions. She’d expected nothing less.

He leaves with a hug and the promise to return. “I’ll figure this out, Peggy. I will.”

“I trust you,” she tells him, which are three of the hardest words she can imagine saying, second only to the three she never got to say to Steve.

* * *

A week later, he shows up at the door again. This time he knocks, slowly, and Peggy opens it to find him more pensive than usual.

“I have some answers. And maybe more questions.”

She makes him a cup of tea and they settle in the kitchen.

“So do you know what’s happening?”

“Yes and no.” Howard sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Your bloodwork shows some cellular changes. Not exactly the same as Steve’s, but there are similarities. Your metabolism _is_ quicker, which explains your tolerance for alcohol.”

“The nightmares?”

“No. That’s what I can’t explain.” Howard shook his head. “I’ve pored over his records. He never reported anything like that. And none of Erskine’s notes mention neurological effects.”

He flips through a file, pointing to a scribble in a chart. Peggy bites back _Why do you have this file?_ It’s not really the main point right now. “So something different is happening.”

“Think about it. You didn’t actually get the serum like he did. You got his blood, which contained the serum.” Howard set aside the file. “This is uncharted territory. I can’t predict anything.”

“Do you have a theory?” Her heart is starting to race. She doesn’t like uncertainty.

He looks at her for a long time before speaking. “I might. But I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it. And I have no idea how to test it.”

“Try me.”

“What if it’s not coming from you? What if they’re not dreams?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have no way of proving this - I don’t know how to test brain activity at this level - but what if your mind is connecting to something outside of you? – like some kind of radio receiver?”

She blinks. “You think I’m having visions?”

“Maybe.”

“Shall I trot off to Delphi and call myself an oracle?”

“Peg, I think you know, better than anyone, just how much science exists beyond our current understanding.”

She grits her teeth, but as much as she hates to admit it, Howard has a point, as he often does. “So if these - nightmares, for lack of a better word - really are coming from outside of my own mind, then where are they coming from?”

He looks at her as if she’s a child.

“From someone else.”

“You’re suggesting I’m telepathic?” He’s officially lost his mind.

“Let’s say it does work like that. Hypothetically. Wouldn’t telepathy take two people, people who are connected on some deep level?”

She blinks. The air rushes out of her lungs.

“You mean Steve.”

(She’s told herself she’s over him, that she’s accepted his death and moved on with her life. But it still hurts to say his name. Physically hurts, a sharp, hot cut deep in her chest.)

“Yes.”

“Steve wasn’t telepathic.”

“We don’t know that. No one else had had the serum.”

They’ve moved past science and into a silly science-fiction novel that makes no sense, and Peggy’s so caught up in trying to say the name _Steve_ without flinching that she’s lost her will to fight with any conviction.

“It can’t be. He’s dead.”

Howard holds up his hands. “I know how you felt about him, Peggy. But I have to be a scientist here. We know the plane went down in the ice. We know he was on it. And now you’re having visions, or dreams, or whatever you want to call them, about freezing and suffocating.”

Her heart, which has been pounding more and more quickly, stumbles in her chest, and she wonders if it’s something dangerous, or did _his_ heart turn over like this? “They’re just dreams.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

She doesn’t know why she’s so desperate for Howard to be wrong.

“Howard, I just - I can’t -”

“Well, hell. Maybe it’s his spirit. His ghost. Soul. Whatever. Maybe it’s science, maybe it’s an honest-to-God miracle. Maybe he needs something.” Howard fixes her with a look so much like boyish, earnest Steve that she catches her breath. “Don’t we owe it to him to try?”

* * *

After Howard leaves, Peggy curls up on her bed, trying to hold back tears. Her throat aches.

Howard wants to go to Greenland. For Steve.

He can’t be alive. The most they’re going to find is a bomber, trapped in the ice. A trail of wreckage. A shining shield, emblazoned with a star.

She thinks about the words _find his body_ and her chest feels like it’s cracking open.

* * *

She wakes shivering in the middle of a hot, muggy July night to find her phone ringing. It’s Howard.

“I think we found the wreck.”

She doesn’t stop shaking all night.

* * *

When Peggy explains why she and Stark are going to Greenland, Sousa gets very quiet for a long moment.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of dogtags.

“Here.”

Peggy takes them slowly. “What is this?”

“If, um - if you - if you find him.” Sousa closes her fingers around them. “He saved my life. Saved my whole unit. I always wished I could have said ‘thank you.’”

Peggy clasps his hand in hers. She knows Sousa well enough to know what this means to him. “I’ll say it for you.”

“I know the two of you were very close.”

“Yes.” So close. So very nearly -

“I heard that you were on the radio with him. When he went down.”

She nods.

“I’m so sorry.”

She gives him a watery smile. “So am I.”

“But - at least -” Sousa clears his throat - “at least the last thing he heard was your voice.”

It’s something she’s told herself before, but this is the first time it’s ever given her the faintest trace of comfort.

* * *

That night, she dreams about Steve. He says nothing, just holds her close.

For the first time in months, she wakes up with a sense of peace.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She doesn’t even know if they’re still in Greenland; in spite of the fact that it’s July, there’s nothing but ice as far as the eye can see.

Howard pilots the jet smoothly up the coast, and if nothing else, it’s a spectacular view. Vast and desolate and sparkling white. He’s asked her at least a dozen times if she’s noticing anything, seeing anything, getting any readings. She’s responded as many times that she’s not a thermometer.

He means well, and luckily he knows her well enough to understand she’s not trying to snipe at him, but Peggy simply doesn’t know how to tell him that she’s scared.

“There.” Howard points to a shadow just coming up over the horizon. “There she is.”

Her fists tighten in her lap as she leans over the console. It’s unmistakable. She remembers the sweep of the wings, the sleek design. Now it’s half-buried in the glacier, massive and still.

She remembers chasing it, wind whipping through her hair as the colonel gunned the engine. Adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The one kiss, frenzied and brief and all they ever had.

Not for the first time, she wonders why she agreed to come.

Howard lands the jet near the base camp, a familiar-looking cluster of olive tents perched not far from the wreck. Surprising. Howard’s usually far fancier than army surplus.

She climbs down from the passenger seat to find a familiar face there to welcome her. “Mr. Jarvis. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I remain your personal pleasant surprise, Miss Carter,” he assures her, though it’s slightly muffled from within the depths of his heavy hooded coat. “I trust you’re well?”

“Well enough.” The icy wind is seeping through all her heavy woolen and down layers, and even just from a few moments, her teeth are chattering. “Perhaps we could move into the tent.”

Inside, Jarvis quickly manages to produce hot tea for both of them. Peggy sips hers gratefully, feeling tendrils of warmth creep back into her fingers and toes.

It still doesn’t seem possible that she’s really here.

There’s a sense of brittleness in her bones, like at any moment she’ll crack into a thousand pieces. Her head is starting to throb, a dull ache that might be due to any number of factors, not least of which is the possibility that she’s only yards away from the source of all of this.

So she takes refuge in being British. “I do hope you’re earning hazard pay here, Mr. Jarvis.”

“Mr. Stark compensates me quite adequately for my efforts, Miss Carter. Although I’m touched by your concern on my behalf.”

* * *

After she’s had a chance to warm up a bit, Howard takes her to the crash site.

She clambers up the ice, waving off his offers of help, until she’s looking down at the plane. There’s a small crew of workers picking away at the ice over the cockpit and fuselage. The wings are still half buried, the rear jutting out into the icy air.

“See how intact it is?” Howard points at the wreck. “I was surprised to see how well it held together. Not too much in the way of rubble.”

She nods mutely, staring at what she knows is Steve’s grave. It’s awash in silence, like any proper cemetery, and she thinks maybe it’s just that it’s too cold for her to cry.

* * *

Howard, ever the scientist, has brought his testing equipment, and back in the tent, she lets him take blood samples, take her pulse, and generally poke and prod until she’s sure she’ll get bruises all over both arms.

“Are you noticing any symptoms? Anything at all out of the ordinary?”

She shakes her head wearily. “Nothing happens when I’m awake.”

He nods. “Good thing there are sleeping quarters here.”

He settles her in what he calls ‘crew quarters,’ which is just a tent lined with bunks. There are a few other beds occupied, with exhausted-looking crewmen wrapped up in heavy thermal covers. He thoughtfully sets her up in a bed directly adjacent to one of the heaters.

“Anything else you need?”

Peggy shakes her head, pulling her own covers around her. “I’m not sure I can sleep. I can’t just drop off on demand.”

“Just try to relax. We’ll come get you if anything happens.”

* * *

She wakes up gasping, every muscle tense, her throat closed. No air. She can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t -

“Peggy! Peggy, come on, snap out of it.”

Her eyes open and she finds Howard leaning over her, holding an oxygen mask to her face. He looks terrified.

She forces herself to slow down and take a breath. Her heart is racing.

“That’s good. Nice and slow. Just focus on breathing.”

After several lungfuls, she’s steady enough to push the mask away. “Did something happen?”

Howard shrugs. “You tell me. You seemed fine for an hour or so, but twenty minutes ago, you started thrashing. You woke up the others. Another dream?”

“Ice.” Endless. Crushing. Worse than anything so far. “I was trapped. I couldn’t breathe.”

He takes her wrist. “Your pulse is still pretty hectic. Are you feeling better?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Excuse me? Mr. Stark?”

Jarvis leans in, looking, as usual, slightly apologetic. “Mr. Stark. Miss Carter. I’m terribly sorry for the interruption. But we’ve found something that - well, we can’t explain.”

“So what else is new?” Howard mutters.

“Sir, we’ve found Captain America. He’s alive.”

She goes completely numb.

* * *

She insists on seeing him immediately.

“Peggy, I don’t know if that’s a good id-”

“Howard.” He seems to realize she’s not backing down. “This is why we’re here.”

Once the lead scientist comes out and says it’s all right, they file quietly into the room behind him. It feels like a wake, and Peggy would laugh at that except her lungs are feeling tight again, like all the ice is still crushing her.

It’s Steve. Captain Rogers. Captain America. The boy from Brooklyn, still waiting for the right dance partner.

He’s lying on the table in front of them, machines around him beeping and whirring. He looks grotesque, like some carnival sideshow pretend human, and her stomach turns. His skin is tinged with blue.

But he’s _breathing_.

It’s slow, and barely visible, but she can see it. The scientists buzzing around him have an air of bewilderment, and Peggy doesn’t blame them. What does one do for a man who shouldn’t be alive, but is?

Someone is talking, she thinks, but she can’t make it out. Her throat is aching. Her chest is tight.

Howard touches her arm. “Peggy?”

She swallows, trying to respond, but her voice won’t work.

“Guys. Guys. Let’s just give her a minute.”

Howard and the scientists vanish, leaving her looking down at Steve, and finally, _finally_ , she feels warm tears coating her cheeks.

“You missed our date.”

She touches his cheek gently. His skin is freezing. She traces the strong line of his jaw, brushes her fingers over his mussed hair.

“Steve.” She leans over to whisper in his ear. “If you can hear me, darling - come back.”

She kisses his cold cheek and holds his icy hands in hers, tears quietly streaming down her face.

* * *

When he comes back in to join her, Howard brings up a question she hadn’t thought of yet.

“So - do we tell everyone about him? Who do we tell?”

“The SSR will have to be notified,” Jarvis points out helpfully. “Although might I suggest, Mr. Stark, that you wait until you’re satisfied with the captain’s condition before handing him over? I believe he’ll get better care privately, under your watch, than out in public, where the media will undoubtedly pounce and complicate matters.”

“Right. Of course.” Peggy can see Howard thinking about details. “We need to make sure he’s stable enough to take back to New York. My lab has equipment. And it’s isolated enough to give us room to work without the government hovering.”

She finally finds her voice.

“Is he going to wake up?”

The room goes silent.

The scientists stare at each other, until finally, one of them turns to her. “We can’t say with complete certainty. But - we think so.”

Howard touches her arm. “I’m sorry, Peg. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”

She gives him a small smile. “You’re a scientist, Howard. I know this is how you work. You look for answers.”

“Sometimes I forget to think about everyone else.” He looks down at Steve. “I promise you, Peggy, I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will.”

* * *

She refuses to leave Steve’s side, waiting patiently as scientists bustle in and out, taking measurements and checking his vital signs.

Howard spends most of the day with her, alternating between manic and focused. She understands. She’s not sure how to feel, herself.

Eventually, he turns to her. “I assume we should notify his family.”

“He doesn’t have any,” she says quietly. “Bucky Barnes was the closest thing he had to family.”

“The rest of the Commandos, then?”

She nods. “I’ll tell them when I get back to New York.”

* * *

When Peggy walks into Thompson’s office and tells him Captain America has been found alive, Jack stares at her like she’s lost her mind.

He calls the president immediately, and it’s the strangest conversation Peggy’s ever witnessed, since she’s only seeing one side. Jack looks as bewildered as she feels. His side of the phone call is largely composed of variations on _I don’t know_ and _I’m not sure_.

After that’s over, he sits blankly in his chair, staring at his desk. “So - he’s been alive, this whole time?”

“Apparently.”

“And now Howard Stark has him?”

“We agreed it best we keep him under lock and key at the lab, at least until he - um - until something changes.” She can’t keep saying _when he wakes up_ because she can’t bring herself to face the reality that he might never wake up.

Jack nods, distracted. “The president agrees. Says it’s best to hold off on any formal announcements for the time being. Given the events with Leviathan, and losing Chief Dooley, he wants to give us a chance to settle without media attention.”

She sleeps dreamlessly that night. She hasn’t had any problems sleeping since they found him.

* * *

The next morning, on her way to her own desk, she stops at Sousa’s. He looks shell-shocked. “I assume you’ve heard?”

He nods. “You saw him?”

“I did.” She hands him his dogtags. “I’m rather glad I have to give these back to you.”

“So am I.” He tucks them back into his pocket. “How’s he doing?”

“It’s early to tell.”

Sousa’s looking at her with a look on his face she can’t quite decipher. He’s a complex man; he’s proven, time and again, that he notices more than most of his colleagues. Sometimes she wonders just how much he knows.

“You love him, don’t you?”

The question catches her off guard.

It’s so much easier to answer than she’d realized.

“Yes.”

Sousa smiles, but there’s a sadness to it that she doesn’t understand.

“I hope he pulls through.”

* * *

Her phone rings that afternoon. “This is Agent Carter.”

“Carter. It’s Chester Phillips.”

“Colonel.” She instinctively sits up straighter, though he can’t see her. She hasn’t seen him since the war ended. “Sir. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I hear you found Rogers.”

“Yes, sir. Howard Stark deserves the credit.”

“He claims you’re the reason he started looking.”

“He’s exaggerating, sir.”

He harrumphs. “Somehow I doubt that. Well. Keep me appraised, Carter.”

“I will.”

“I trust you’ll both agree to name your first son Chester.”

Her eyes go wide. “ _Sir -_ ”

But there’s a click as he hangs up and she’s left staring at her phone.

* * *

She’s halfway through a set of fragmented reports from the Russian front, the conference table covered in semi-legible notes, when the door opens.

“Message for you, Carter.”

Sousa hands her a paper with two brief lines scrawled on it.

_He’s awake._

_You’re the first one he asked for._

* * *

The sight of Steve Rogers awake, still pale but lying there with his eyes open, takes the breath out of her body.

He sees her, and everything else just stops.

“Steve.”

“Peggy?” he breathes, and his voice is rough and weak but it’s _him_ and she still can’t quite fathom it. “How -?”

“I don’t know.” And she doesn’t care. “I just know that you’re here.”

“Peggy.” His voice is thick, and she can see his eyes welling up with tears. “Thought - thought I’d never -”

In spite of the crowd of scientists, Howard, Jarvis, and whoever else is here, she leans in and kisses Steve soundly.

His mouth is softer than she expected, warm and pliant under hers. It’s brief, cursory, but it’s Steve and it’s all she could want.

When she lets go, she finds him smiling, a little dazed. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

She bites her lip. “How do you feel?”

“After that? Amazing.”

He asks about the SSR, about her work now, about the 107th, and she finds herself talking for what seems like an eternity. It takes a while for her to realize she’s been going on, non-stop, barely letting him get in a word edgewise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to prattle on.”

“No, it’s all right.” He shrugs, smiling shyly. “It’s just - it’s good to hear your voice again.”

* * *

She asks Howard if he’s found anything, any clue, some scientific explanation for the dreams that led them to Greenland.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I can’t explain it. I can only guess it’s some kind of higher-level brain function, something I can’t measure.”

“What about the rest?”

He gives her a look she’s never seen from Howard Stark before. Something she can only describe as...humility, perhaps?

“I don’t know, Peggy. We may never know.” He smiles ruefully. “Sure am glad Jarvis gave you that vial, though.”

* * *

As it turns out, Captain America’s even more in demand now than he was before he was declared dead.

Peggy finds herself politely removed from the room when the president shows up, then the Secretary of War - though she’s given to understand he’s now called the Secretary of the Army? - and a phalanx of military officials, each one with higher clearance than the last, come to smile and nod and shake the hand of the captain who, by rights, shouldn’t be alive.

As it turns out, it’s three days before she and Steve finally get a real chance to be alone together. He’s still in a bed in the lab, though he’s rapidly getting stronger, and she pulls up a chair beside him.

“You’re quite the golden boy,” she comments drily, crossing her legs, smoothing her skirt. “It’s an honor to be received by Your Grace.”

He blushes at that, looking as sheepish as it’s possible for a tall, muscular Adonis to look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they’d -”

“Steve. I’m teasing.”

“Right.”

She looks at him curiously. He’s been trapped in ice, his body shut down into hibernation, for years. Now he’s been woken up and hastily dragged through five years of world-changing events. It’s been a lot for her to take in, and she’s had five years to do it.

What’s it like for him?

“What do you remember?”

“I remember your voice,” he says quietly. “That’s the last thing I remember. Then...nothing. Until I opened my eyes and I was here.”

“You remember the crash?” Pain flickers across his face, and she immediately regrets the question. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t -”

“No, it’s all right.” He looks down at the bedsheet, and she can see the tension rising in his face. She reaches for his hand instinctively, curling her fingers around his. “I remember it. Ice. Just - ice, everywhere. It was coming towards me. For some reason, I thought - if I just kept talking to you -” he smiles wryly - “somehow it wouldn’t be so bad.”

He covers her hand with his, brushing his thumb over her skin gently. Her skin buzzes like a live wire, warmth flooding her veins. She’s cried herself out over him, but her throat still feels tight.

“I kept your photo in my compass.”

“I know.” She squeezes his hand. “Colonel Phillips was sitting next to me when we saw it on a film reel. He gave me quite the earful.”

Steve grins tiredly. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she tells him. “I found I didn’t mind people thinking of me as your ‘best girl.’”

His face brightens at that, and it’s the Steve she remembers - boyish, sweet, and so devoid of ego that he can’t possibly be real, but somehow he is. “Really?”

“Really.” They’re still alone, so she leans in to kiss his cheek. Because she _can_ now. Because that’s something they do, and she still can’t quite believe it.

“I was - I wanted to ask.” He fixes her with his most earnest expression. “Would you like to go steady?”

He’s quite possibly the most adorable man on the face of the earth.

“I’ll consider it.” She watches his face light up, and has to stop herself from kissing him over and over and over. “You _do_ still owe me a dance, soldier.”

“As long as you teach me,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I missed it the first time.”

There’s no reason not to kiss him now, so she does, leaning over, her hand pressed softly to his cheek. He kisses her back gently, his fingers tangling in her hair, and it fills her with light, every regret and memory all swirling into one moment, and he’s _here_ and he’s not going anywhere.

She can’t explain anything.

And she doesn’t have to.

“It’s all right, Steve.” She steals one more soft kiss. “We have all the time in the world.” 


End file.
